


Friendly

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron gets stuck on a moving staircase with Malfoy, who doesn't think Ron is very friendly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2004 Merry Smutmas.

He was happy for them. 

He really was.

Honestly.

He was happy for them and if he heard one more sodding person not-quite-whisper in his presence that he was jealous of them, Ron was quite certain that he could not be held accountable for his actions. It was tiring, constantly having to defend himself to not only their housemates but the rest of the student population as well.

Ron was the first to admit that he could be the jealous sort. Hell, he'd gone out of his head when Harry's name had been pulled out of the Goblet of Fire...and he was really sure that Hermione and Harry hadn't forgotten the way he'd puffed his chest and nearly bellowed his lungs out at Hermione after the Yule Ball because she had gone with the likes of Viktor Krum. There were a few other choice examples Harry, Hermione, or any number of his siblings could bring up to support any random person's accusation of Ron being a jealous person. Secure in the knowledge that he could turn into a raging green-eyed monster, Ron could not deny any claims of that nature.

However, he could and _would_ deny accusations that he was jealous of Harry and Hermione's new relationship with one another. 

All right. 

So at first when they told him, he'd seen red. But that only lasted for maybe ten seconds before his vision cleared and he looked from one smiling, nervous face to the other and he _knew_. He knew that they'd be good for one another as well as _to_ one another. And, well...if it wasn't him with one of them, they should be with each other. That was the only way it made sense. 

Harry desperately needed someone to look after him, love him, fret over him...and who better to do that than Hermione? Hermione needed someone to calm her down, lighten her up, show her that her smarts and drive really did mean something to someone in a good way...and who better to do that than Harry?

Still.

They now each had a person to be close to in a way that mates just _weren't_ and Ron felt incredibly down about that. He could see how happy they made one another and he wondered if there was anyone out there like that for _him_. Not that it mattered, likely. He knew he wasn't the best-looking bloke around or the smartest or the most athletic or even the funniest. There wasn't anything really extraordinary about him. How would he ever catch a bird or even a bloke if there wasn't anything special about him to stand out? 

A trunk slammed across the dormitory and Ron jumped slightly, startled out of his reverie.

"Sorry, mate," Dean said sheepishly, moving around the foot of his four-poster and arranging a stack of parcels he would be taking on the Hogwarts Express later on that afternoon. Christmas holiday break was upon them in a few short hours and half of his dorm mates were going home. Ron was going to the Burrow, of course, and had only a few things left to organise before the students would be herded together to head towards the train station. 

He forced a grin. "It's all right. Don't worry about it." Running a hand through his hair, he pivoted slowly, eyes falling on Harry's unmade bed. He'd be staying there for the holidays, having declined to spend them at the Burrow this year. Ron wasn't going to force the issue even though he'd love to have Harry at home with him; he knew that Hermione's parents were going on one of their annual ski holidays and that she would be remaining at Hogwarts as well. He didn't want to think about the specifics of what they'd be doing exactly, but he knew they were both staying behind despite long-standing Burrow Christmas invites to spend some quality time alone. 

A lump rose suddenly in his throat and Ron swallowed hard against it. 

Air.

He needed air. 

After ribbing Dean one last time about his rather ugly West Ham football sweater, Ron shot him an easy grin whilst grabbing his cloak, ducking an empty inkwell that Dean half-heartedly lobbed as his head in retaliation. Chuckling, Ron strode down the corridor and ran down the stairs toward the common room. 

The corridors, Ron found, were almost eerily empty. Most of the students, he reckoned, were in their dormitories doing some last-minute packing or lounging in their common rooms spending as much time with their mates as possible before being parted for the duration of Christmas hols. Although he usually looked forward to running into people he knew in the corridors so he could stop and joke about or have a quick chat, he found that he was grateful for their emptiness. 

He needed time to think or time alone or-- hadn't it been air? 

He wasn't sure anymore.

All Ron was sure of was that the corridors were blessedly quiet and that he could walk along them without worry if he was going to pass a catty group of Ravenclaw fifth years making pointed remarks about poor Ron Weasley and how he must be so bloody jealous that Granger and Potter shacked up together. That sort of shite really made his blood boil. They were his best mates; he wasn't about to be jealous of them because they'd finally realised how they felt about one another or begrudge them their happiness. 

Idly thinking that he just might go outside and make use of the cloak he'd slung over his arm only minutes earlier, he turned a corner and headed toward the staircase that would lead to the first floor. If he was figuring things correctly, the staircase would put him relatively close to the doors leading out to the courtyard. When he'd woken up that morning, Neville had called him over to the windows in their dormitory to sit on the large windowsill and watch the snow come down in thick sheets, blanketing the grounds. The snow had stopped sometime after lunch and Ron suddenly couldn't wait to go out and see the winter wonderland that was Hogwarts. It was a magical enough place as it was but the snow just...enriched...everything, somehow. Made things more special and fantastical.

Feel lighter than he had all day, Ron practically bounded to the staircase. In a matter of moments he'd be outside surrounded by the pure, blinding white snow. Likely no one else had gone outside yet. Usually the houses were in chaos the first day of holiday; students were probably too busy taking care of last minute details to nip outside for a snowball fight today. It would be perfect. Just Ron and his cloak and a pristine blanket of snow as far as the eye could see...

_Oh sod it all._

And just like that, his mood soured. Considerably.

_It figures. It fucking figures. Ruddy mad moving staircases._

The past few years as a Hogwarts student, Ron had come to realise that the staircases moved only when you actually had somewhere to be, not when you were just wasting time puttering about.

And as he’d quite been overcome with the urge to go out and be in the snow, naturally the staircase decided to delay things for him. 

Lovely.

Annoyed, Ron cursed under his breath and kicked at the stone railing.

“Attempted destruction of school property,” drawled a very familiar, _very_ unwanted voice. "Rather unbecoming behaviour for a prefect."

_Well this just gets better and better, doesn’t it? Fuck all._

Without so much as glancing over his shoulder back at the other boy, Ron shrugged carelessly and descended a few more steps. The more space between him and that prat, the better.

"Not very friendly of you, Weasel, ignoring someone when they're talking to you."

That smug voice, that _smarmy_ voice was practically in his ear and he could feel the other boy's presence beside him.

Twisting his torso so he could face him, Ron glared. He was in no mood for this shite. "Shove off, Malfoy. I've no reason to be friendly with the likes of you." Having said that, Ron jostled his elbow as he moved past him, practically skipping down a good stretch of the staircase.

Malfoy wasn't far behind him.

That bloke was an annoying swotty fuckwit when he wanted to be, which was all of the damned time as far as Ron was concerned. 

 

"WHAT?!" Ron exploded, turning around on the step and shooting daggers at Malfoy. 

Malfoy, who was standing on the step just above Ron, gave him a maddeningly calm smile in return. "What?" he repeated politely. "I'm just concerned about your well-being, Weasel, seeing as--"

Incensed, Ron raised his voice and began to talk over Malfoy. "Oh, don't you even fucking start on me with that--" 

"--seeing as how you're alienating yourself from the mudblood and Potty because you can't stand that they're shagging and left you and your willy behind to rot off--"

"--shite, Malfoy, I'll hex you; I swear I'll fucking hex you--"

"--I think you have every reason to be friendly to me, Weasel. You're desperate. You need validation that you're worthwhile as your little friends have tossed you aside like a haggard thestral who can't pull a carriage anymore--"

All but blinded by rage, Ron launched himself at the other boy. Grabbing a hold of Malfoy by the shoulders of his very expensive cloak (and dimly wondering in the back of his mind if Malfoy had been heading outside as well), Ron knocked him down onto the hard stone stairs, his lanky frame covering Malfoy's. 

Malfoy grunted beneath him and Ron could feel Malfoy's hands trying to find a good spot for leverage on his chest. 

"Get off of me, Weasel," Malfoy snarled.

"You're fucked if you think I'm taking orders from you, you shite," Ron spat, his fingers splaying out on Malfoy's broad shoulders. 

Glaring down at him, Ron could see a mixture of disgust and loathing in Malfoy's grey eyes and he hoped to God that his own blue were flashing something ten times worse than that back at him. 

Malfoy's mouth scrunched to one side while Ron's settled into a thin line. He could see Malfoy's throat constrict a little, like he was swallowing or something and suddenly Ron came overwhelmed with the desire to make sure Malfoy knew he wasn't playing around. 

So rather than listen to whatever it was that Malfoy was starting to bluster at him, Ron took matters into his own hands to show the Slytherin who was winning this little scuffle here.

Now, it wasn't the most graceful way to go about showing one's dominance over another but, then again, Ron wasn't exactly the graceful sort.

He head butted Malfoy.

Malfoy yelped, kicking and squirming beneath him.

"Take back what you said, you slimy bastard," Ron hissed, fingers digging into the thick fabric of Malfoy's cloak. "Take it _back_."

"No, Weasel," Malfoy hissed, the toe of his rather tough Italian loafer connecting hard with one of Ron's shins, "I won't." And then he spat in Ron's face.

Enraged, Ron did something that didn't make any sense when he thought about things later but made perfect sense at the time to prevent Malfoy from being a shite and spitting on him like that again.

He snogged him.

On second thought, perhaps 'snogged' doesn't adequately describe what Ron did.

'Took' might be a better way of phrasing things.

Yes. Ron took him. Took from him.

Seeing red and black and then a swirling, maddening crazy-quilt kaleidoscope of colours, Ron growled and brushed his mouth to Malfoy's. Malfoy's mouth didn't respond under his but that was all right; this was about showing him who the bloody fuck was in control around here, about who the bloody fuck deserved some sodding _respect_. Ron's mouth covered Malfoy's, lips moving against his, tongue running along the lower lip before sliding in and sweeping across his teeth. Malfoy gasped when Ron's fingers squeezed his shoulders more firmly, opening his mouth up to him. Taking no pause, Ron's tongue delved into the warm crevice of Malfoy's mouth and he was only slightly surprised when he felt Malfoy's tongue slide willingly along his and then engage in something of a duel. 

Ron felt himself beginning to lose this duel and that simply wasn't on.

Breaking away from Malfoy's mouth, he pulled back gasping for air. Sucking in large gulps, he quickly calculated another plan to get the upper hand on the boy beneath him. 

Withdrawing his hands from Malfoy's shoulders, Ron raised his body up so that he was straddling Malfoy's prone figure on the stairs, knee on either side of him. Giving Malfoy a smirk, he shifted as though he were going to stand up and then suddenly leaned back down into him, one hand covering his mouth.

Malfoy's eyes widened and he yelled. Whatever he was yelling, of course, became muffled beneath Ron's hand. And as Ron didn't really quite care to hear what Malfoy might have had to say about anything at the moment, the notion to remove his hand from Malfoy's mouth never crossed his mind. 

However, it _did_ cross his mind that he ought to take things to the next level and do something that would really fucking humiliate Draco Malfoy. For some odd reason, Malfoy got into the snog and Ron couldn't have that. He had to have the upper hand and that was fucking that. 

And that was why he found that his hand was suddenly wrapped around Malfoy's cock. He blinked, not even remembering having undone Malfoy's zip and gotten his trousers and pants halfway down his legs. Oh well. Judging from the mumbled bellowing coming from behind Ron's hand on Malfoy's mouth, Malfoy was unimpressed. Served him fucking right.

Ron quickly found that it really wasn't so dodgy stroking someone else off. Hell, he'd wanked himself enough to be something of a Triwizard Champion in it if there were such a thing. It was a bit odd having his hand around a cock that wasn't his own but the actual act of wanking someone other than himself wasn't strange in the least. It was almost comforting, actually. 

Malfoy stopped his protesting and thrust his hips up, pushing his cock further into the fist of Ron's hand. Ron smirked and quickened his pace, rocking his own hips against the tops of Malfoy's thighs. Something that undeniably could be classified as a moan sounded deep within Malfoy's throat and Ron wanted very much to fucking hear it properly so he uncovered Malfoy's mouth. 

Up and down and up and down went his hand and, with each stroke, Malfoy's moans grew. 

Curious as to if he could do anything other than moan, Ron made a very rash decision and did something he never, ever would have believed that he would do. 

He took Malfoy's cock into his mouth.

Ron Weasley sucked Draco Malfoy's cock.

It wasn't just sucking; it was _devouring_.

His tongue ran along the underside before curling around the head wetly, tonguing the slit and swirling once before moving down the length again. His hand slid up Malfoy's thigh, fingertips lightly dancing over the juncture where leg and hip meet before manoeuvring just so to cup his balls. Malfoy cursed, his hips jerking madly, pushing the head of his cock against the roof of Ron's mouth. Ron didn't mind one fucking bit; he could feel himself get hard from the sounds and the _taste_ and-- _Oh_. 

So hard now. So incredibly fucking _hard_ and he couldn’t concentrate on the sounds or--

Ron released Malfoy's cock with a pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What are you doing, Weasel?" Malfoy panted. Ron could tell by the grimace on his face that the tension in his balls must be damned near killing him. It made him feel fucking brilliant know that it had been because of _him_ that Malfoy was aching to get off. 

A slow grinned curved Ron's mouth. "Nothing, Malfoy," he said nonchalantly.

"Oh, I don't think it's 'nothing,'" Draco grunted. 

"It is," returned Ron evenly, clamouring to his feet.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" 

"Nowhere, obviously," Ron said lazily, standing up and leaning on the railing, looking out at the portraits across the way as the staircase continued to slowly move. "We're still mov--"

He never got to finish his sentence.

He never got to finish his sentence as he found it was quite difficult to talk when Draco Malfoy had thrust himself at you from behind, his arms wrapped around your chest, his very erect cock pressed into your backside, and his very tasty mouth shoving his very skilled down practically down your throat.

Malfoy was slightly shorter than Ron which worked to his advantage, for he could be twisted in this odd way snogging Malfoy in a way over his shoulder and not finding it to be uncomfortable in the slightest. In fact, he was so caught up in this fiery snog that he'd not noticed that Malfoy was unfastening his pants and trousers until the cool air hit his cock.

"What--"

"Shut your gob," Malfoy hissed.

At that moment Ron didn't give a toss as to whether or not he was in control of the situation anymore. He couldn't, not when Malfoy's finger was suddenly inside of him, pressing against him.

Ron's eyes nearly popped right out of his head but fortunately his mouth was rather occupied and thus the whimper that welled up was lost in the depths of Malfoy's plundering mouth. A second finger joined the first and Ron couldn't help but to clench and wiggle and _fuck_ it hurt so much--

He bit down on Malfoy's lip; the Slytherin's pained gasp somehow lessening his own pain. In response, Malfoy's fingers crooked inside of his channel, pressing against a spot that made Ron see stars. 

The stars were coming faster now and, when Malfoy broke off the kiss and licked his own palm, Ron was dead certain that he was actually and honestly going to go blind. 

And when he felt Malfoy’s cock nudging his entrance, Ron nearly _did_ black out for a moment there. First there was a burst of pain as his cock pushed through the tight ring of muscle and then—

Perfection.

Bracing his arms on the banister, Ron pressed his arse back against Malfoy, a hand flailing behind him until he felt the smooth, heated skin of Malfoy’s hip.

“Just like I said,” Malfoy grunted, snapping his hips forward and burying himself in Ron’s arse up to the hilt, “desperate.”

A flash of anger flared up in Ron again. “I’m not, you fucker. Take it—“

Malfoy laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that Ron could _feel_ against his back, Malfoy’s chest slick with perspiration draped over his him. “I am a fucker, Weasel,” he said blithely, pulling back slowly. “A weasel fucker for now, it seems.” And with that, he drove his hips forward, his balls slapping against Ron’s arse. 

Hacked off and turned on at the same time, Ron could do nothing but fight back, rage back, _fuck_ back. It became a contest of sorts, who could thrust, rock, swivel the hardest…who could make the other moan the loudest…

Their cries echoed in the stairwell and Ron wouldn’t have disbelieved it if Malfoy told him that their fucking was pushing the staircase faster toward its destination. There was so _much_ so _fast_ and then he was coming, Malfoy was coming and _God_ \--

Malfoy's teeth marked the curve of his shoulder like a badge; Ron was sure of it. There was a burst of pain from Malfoy's unexpected bite and then Ron felt a chill dance across his back. Malfoy had pulled out and was already rearranging his clothing.

"That," Malfoy said slowly, "was a bit more friendly of you, Weasel. Good show."

_What? WHAT?_

Yanking up his pants and trousers, Ron turned back around and stared at Malfoy almost blankly.

"What?" Malfoy asked, clearly amused by his expression. "Cat got your tongue, Weasel?"

"You're a real fuckwit," Ron spat. "D'you know that?"

The stairwell shifted into place; the sound of the bottom of the stone staircase grinding against the stone landing most unpleasant to Ron's ears.

Malfoy grinned. He _actually_ grinned.

"I never claimed not to be," he said, brushing past Ron. Standing on the landing, he arched a brow. "Happy Christmas, Weasel. Perhaps we'll find ourselves stuck on a staircase again. I'd watch myself if I were you."

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor and out of sight.

Ron frowned, sitting down on the bottom step when he could no longer hear Malfoy's footfalls.

That, he decided, had been right fucked up. 

But at least now he had something to mull over rather than Harry and Hermione's burgeoning relationship.


End file.
